Why You Should Want to Be Friends with Roxy Porthole

She once thought she had a butt concussion.

She is no respecter of candies. When I told her this (because she loves all candy equally), she replied, "Hey! I respect candy a lot!"

I call her Momma and she calls me Baby. She also calls me Sally and Sammy Davis, Jr.

She is the perfect height to give a little kiss on the top of her head.

Whenever she gives you a book, she autographs it as if she were the author.

Her run-in with Omar.

Roxy knows how to have a good time. Every once in awhile we would have "Free Weekend" together--where we could only spend $10 max all weekend. After I won some free tickets to the Legg Mason Tennis Classic by writing some Roses are Red poems, we went and shared a bottle of water that we continued filling up in the bathroom sink. (Hey! that water was expensive!) After cheering for our "boyfriend" tennis players, discussing our feelings about 1/2 mesh shirts and getting REALLY REALLY hot, we headed home via the metro on which we almost got separated. We stood there staring at each other, each on the opposite side of a closed train door. And when the door re-opened for a second, I hopped on and there was a huge embarrassing scene of rejoicing...until we realized we were on the wrong train.

We had a pineapple explosion in her car at Virginia Beach that scared the living daylights out of us.

She calls Shotzy and me "Hot Patrol" because we like to comment when people are wearing clothes that are too warm to be worn in the Summer, like their coats in August at church for example. This is totally unrelated to the fact that every Sunday at church I used to startle her by pretending to lift up her skirt in front of everyone.

She will watch anything on TV. Anything.

I used to highlight her hair, which eventually led to me highlighting her co-worker's hair. But once on a dye job gone awry--Roxy's hair ended up a lovely shade of plum.

We made a huge Easter feast that could have fed about 15 people. We ate it all alone in our Easter dresses in the Living Room at a card table so we could watch "The Ten Commandments" on TV. Roxy had never seen it, and I will say she has now seen all of it except for the last 10 minutes...but that's not my fault.

After Roxy moved away, she mailed me her "mummy shirt" because she knew I loved it.

In the mornings, we now commonly have IM conversations in which we try to outdo each other concerning who looks more ridiculous that day, analyzing our outfits, makeup and hair. Yesterday when I told Roxy that as I had looked in the mirror that morning I thought, "Maybe I don't like being tan and blonde anymore because I'm starting to look like one of those buxom blonde porn stars who I think are so ugly," Roxy immediately typed in the IM window "NO NO." I expected her to follow with "NO NO. You don't look like that" but instead I got "NO NO. They are pretty."

Roxy, IMY. Love, Punkmonkey